


And the day returns too soon

by ShadowsLoveSong (shadowslovesong)



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Talk of homophobia, very mild implication of possible incest between cousins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowslovesong/pseuds/ShadowsLoveSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m actually quite a capable dancer, you know,” Dantalion says.</p><p>“Pardon?” William asks, brow lifting. </p><p>“Dancing. You asked if I’d say I was your dance partner. I just thought you should know, you should only be so lucky.” </p><p>William snorts, shaking his head. “I’m sure you receive only the best training in hell.” </p><p>“You think all we do every day for centuries is prepare for war?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the day returns too soon

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to contribute to the too-small (but wonderful!) pool of dantaliam fic for a while, and after a combination of loganhasseenthelight on tumblr making a post about dantaliam slow dancing, and thinking about the political treatment of homosexuality in 19th century England, this thing hit me. It's the first fic I've written in over a year and the first I've written of these characters and I'm hella nervous so I hope you enjoy!!! sorry it's a little bit sad. Title is a line from Byron's So We'll Go No More a-Roving.

By the dark, still lake, with a pale moon just barely embracing the night, the world all but hangs suspended in its orbit.

A ridiculous thought for someone like William Twining, of course. William Twining who knows Galileo’s discoveries to be true, that the earth revolves around the sun; who knows Newton’s laws of gravity and how the earth’s rotations create the seasons, spin into days, dance into years. The earth does not stop moving, not ever. Not even on a night like this. Such thoughts are for the fanciful and the ignorant.  
  
William scoffs them away.  
  
Still, he amends as he stares out over the motionless lake, if he were such a person it would not be hard to imagine. There’s not a single ripple disrupting the water, no wind to rustle the grass or leaves despite the frosty chill that the beginning of Winter brings.  
  
He breathes out a soft puff of smoky air and tries to remember why he’d even come out here, with the frigid chill and the time so close to curfew. The trunk he hasn’t even finished packing for the wedding he leaves for in the morning.  
  
If he regards it honestly, he may begin to consider that intrusive thoughts had something to do with his decision… intrusive thoughts of dark hair and ruby eyes, hands that have so often held William’s own, hands that sometimes end in claws that should feel strange and wrong but don’t.  
  
He’d told Isaac he needed air, because his chest felt strange and his cheeks felt flushed. It wasn’t a lie.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” a voice has William’s head whipping around, despite already knowing to whom it belongs. The deep, warm tone is impossible to mistake. At least for William. “Prefect William Twining out so close to curfew? What if you miss role call! Hell may actually freeze over, which would be very inconvenient for me.”  
  
William scowls, sending the glare toward Dantalion briefly before turning back to the water. He’s glad for the darkness that hides the way his cheeks color, the blush rising as a result of being caught by the object of his reverie. Strange, how Dantalion always manages to do that — and yet, not so strange.  
  
“Don’t lose any sleep over it, I’ll be back with time to spare,” he says.  
  
He’s unsurprised when he feels the demon sit beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush with the rise and fall of their chests. “You wouldn’t ordinarily risk it without one of us somehow dragging you into it. So?”  
  
William frowns and shrugs one shoulder — it’s hardly intentional that it’s the shoulder beside Dantalion’s, so that they bump gently. “So I needed fresh air. I’ll be cooped up in a carriage for half the day tomorrow, thought I’d go for a walk.”  
  
Dantalion tilts his head. “Are you going somewhere?”  
  
“That would be what one does in a carriage, wouldn’t it?” William retorts, though his tone holds no barb. “I’m attending a wedding.”  
  
“You never mentioned a wedding.”  
  
“Yes well, forgive me if I don’t make a habit of reporting my every obligation to my stalkers.”  
  
William’s only looking from the corner of his eye, but he can see a smile flicker on Dantalion’s face. His toes curl inside his shoes of their own accord. “Whose wedding is it then?”  
  
“A distant cousin. She’s fairly wealthy, and the marriage is to the son of a prominent London politician, so it’s a rather extravagant affair.”  
  
“I see,” Dantalion hums, tilting his head back to peer up at the clear sky. “How long will you be gone?”  
  
“Three days.”  
  
“Three days!” Dantalion practically sends William keening over with the force of his jolting. “Is it really wise for you to be off on your own that long? I should probably accompany you—”  
  
“You will absolutely do no such thing!” William says sharply, regaining his balance. “I mean it, Dantalion. This is an important opportunity, some of the biggest names in Britain’s high society will be there. I have to play my cards right and you— you scatter the deck.”  
  
“William—”  
  
“No. You are staying here, and that’s final.” William is facing him now, eyes as dark and still as the lake before them. It lasts only a moment, before they soften with his voice. “Listen, I’ll be fine. Both sides are at a stand-still at the moment, yes? No one will try anything. And— even if they did, it’s not as though you can’t materialize in an instant.”  
  
Dantalion looks back at him, clearly still uncertain, but he sighs and sits back. “That would depend on you actually summoning me.”  
  
William pauses. “Fine.”  
  
“…Fine?”  
  
“Fine,” he says again, an attempt at breezy. “If I need you, I’ll summon you—” The grin that splits across Dantalion’s face is brighter than the moon itself. “—But I won’t. Need you.” William tacks on, scrambling. It’s no use, though. Dantalion’s smile shines on.  
  
“Thank you, William,” he says softly, the genuine warmth and affection so thick in those three words that William feels the very breath in his lungs dissolve into smoke.  
He manages a small huff, just to save face. “Anyway, what exactly would you have done tagging along with me? Told everyone you were my dancing buddy?”  
  
“Would there have been a problem with that?” Dantalion asks, and William is almost afraid to wonder if his question is sincere.  
  
“Oh, hardly. That is, they stopped hanging for that sort of thing ten years or so ago. Now they can only confiscate all worldly possessions and sentence you to a lifetime of indentured servitude.”  
  
The sudden dark note in William’s tone makes Dantalion look over at him again. Was that— bitterness, perhaps? Regret?  
  
He’s about to say something else, though he hasn’t quite settled on what, when William speaks up again. William himself isn’t really sure what even makes him say it. Maybe the quiet is just too loud, and the words have been pushing their way up through his throat all evening, and maybe part of him thinks if he just says them now they’ll be frozen in the air with the ice crystals in his breath.  
  
“I’m meant to meet someone there. A— a girl. She’s the sister of the bride..” He sits up straighter, clears his throat. He’s aware that his voice is lacking its usual cool, steady certainty, that his posture leaves confidence to be desired. He can’t make his eyes meet the red ones he knows are boring onto him in the dark. “Her father thinks it could be a favorable match. They are aware of my estate’s… situation and are willing to help, knowing I’m likely to find success in the future.”  
  
The crickets seem to have a more vocal reaction to the statement than Dantalion does. Their steady chirping has been the backdrop of the conversation all along, yet suddenly the noise sounds accusatory. William shifts. “It is a very generous offer. They would be putting enormous faith in me, putting their daughter’s happiness and their wealth in my hands on the belief that I’ll succeed.” Whether he is voicing a concern, or trying to defend himself, or both, even he isn’t sure.  
  
It’s then that Dantalion finds something to say again. “It hardly takes faith. You were destined to achieve greatness, William Twining.”  
  
And there it is again. That voice, those words, and — when William pulls in a soft breath and turns to look at him — his eyes. Eyes that look at him and see /him,/ see William Twining. Not Solomon, not the Elector, not someone to whom he’d been bound but someone he hopes will ask him to stay.  
  
William finds he can’t look away, doesn’t want to look away. And before he thinks better of it, he reaches his hand across the space between them and slides it into Dantalion’s. His heart gives a heavy, lurching thump inside his chest and his cheeks flush hot but he doesn’t pull away. Dantalion’s fingers twitch and then slide through his, and he holds on tight.  
  
The silence stretches. The crickets and the wind in the trees are judging them. “I’m actually quite a capable dancer, you know,” Dantalion says.

“Pardon?” William asks, brow lifting. 

“Dancing. You asked if I’d say I was your dance partner. I just thought you should know, you should only be so lucky.” 

William snorts, shaking his head. “I’m sure you receive only the best training in hell.” 

“You think all we do every day for centuries is prepare for war?” 

“I’d be shocked to see proof that  _you_  even do  _that_ much,” William mutters. 

He’s hardly finished his remark before Dantalion jumps to his feet, hand still latched to William’s, and tugs—no,  _yanks_. “Allow me to prove it, then!” 

“Dan—Dantalion! What in god’s name are you doing?!” William stumbles to his feet, namely because he has no choice. 

“As though either of us do anything in His name,” Dantalion grins, ignoring William’s scowl as he tightens his hold on his hand and sets the other on William’s shoulder. “Ready?”

“ _Ready!_ ” William repeats in indignation, green eyes flashing bright amidst the shadows. “Absolutely not, this is ridiculous!” 

Predictably, Dantalion ignores him. He shifts his feet and crooks his elbow to set them into what William has to admit is a rather passable waltzing position. “And— _one_ -two-three,  _one_ -two-three,  _one_ -two-three….” He steps them into motion, and before William can protest again they’re dancing, waltzing, in the shadows of the trees along the lake’s shore. 

“Dantalion— honestly, we have to get back soon! This is entirely—“ But Dantalion is laughing brightly, and spinning William under his arm and tugging him back, and whatever insulting adjective William had been ready to say falls away from his tongue and is lost. Somehow his eyes meet Dantalion’s again and it’s like everything rushes back into that still silence, as if this smallest hint of acquiescence has stunned nature itself. 

William doesn’t understand Dantalion’s eyes. He cannot begin to calculate a scientific explanation. But such a shade should mean only anger, blood, scorching heat; such a red should intimidate. But William finds only quiet, comforting warmth, sees a tenderness there which should hardly even be possible and which William has done nothing to earn. 

The cool air fills his lungs as he draws a sharp, quivering breath and Dantalion’s peel of laughter is swallowed midway by William pitching himself abruptly forward, closer into Dantalion’s hold, and dropping their somewhat formal clasp of hands to fold his arms around the demon’s back instead.

He drops his burning face against Dantalion’s shoulder as his own action catches up with him. “Shut up,” he murmurs, and is answered with a soft chuckle that he can only “hear” because he feels the vibration against his forehead. “Don’t say a word.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dantalion says, and his voice sounds so soft and so full of awe that William’s toes curl inside his stiff leather shoes. “But can I take this to mean you admit I’m a fantastic dancer?” 

“Shut.  _Up._ ”

William feels the quiet laughter again, and if he were someone else he might think about how quickly it’s becoming his favorite sensation. How no distant cousin of his will laugh this way, will feel so warm, will make William do foolish, ludicrous, wonderful things like dance around a lake in the moonlight. 

He realizes then that they’re  _still_ dancing. The steps are slow, hardly steps at all, there is no rhythm or pattern or direction. But they are moving, turning slowly, the sort of dancing that isn’t meant for anyone but the dancers. 

“They’ve got it wrong, you know,” Dantalion says softly. William’s not sure if he’s relieved for the interruption of the silence or not. “The humans who put His words into books, the so-called holy men who interpreted them. They have it wrong. Neither Heaven nor Hell condemns it. Having met some of the most powerful angels in Heaven… do they really seem as though they’d concern themselves with who humans choose to—“ 

“Dantalion.” William lifts his head just enough to speak clearly. He looks at him, then finds he has to look away. This conversation… there’s so much being said, without either of them really saying it. There’s really no hiding from its meaning, William would be a faulty sort of realist to pretend otherwise. Still. Acknowledging a thing and staring the thing in the eye head-on are two different levels of bravery.

“The laws of Heaven… the judgment of its angels are of little consequence to me. I have lived my life for seventeen years by no one’s moral compass but my own and that’s not about to change.” William’s eyes are fixed to their spot on Dantalion’s shoulder, his voice fairly steady. His fingers clenching just slightly in the fabric of Dantalion’s shirt are perhaps the only hint that his ever-present composure is at risk. 

But he knows there’s no going back from what he’s about to say. If their round-about euphemism until now had amounted to a near-confession, William is about to send them dancing the rest of the way over the cliff. There will be no mistaking his feelings and no room for staunch denial. It’s, frankly, more terrifying than anything he has witnessed in Heaven or Hell or between. 

“But,” he continues, when the silence strangles it out of him, “my own moral compass means as little to the people of Britain as Heaven’s means to me. And—they are the ones who will decide my fate, here on Earth. I… have a plan. A purpose, which may seem inconsequential to the Grand Duke of Hell but is all I have ever worked for.” He lifts a hand, trembling ever so slightly, and lets it land on Dantalion’s chest as if he intends to distance himself but can’t quite force it to push. “Men who — who — ‘lie with men’… They are not elected into office.” 

And… there it is. It’s done, just like that. There is no explosion, no great fire, the ground does not open and swallow them up. The stars do not flicker out. And yet, everything changes. In the loudest, grandest, yet most silent of ways. 

A warm hand settles on his cheek, and for the first time since he began speaking, William lets his eyes lift to Dantalion’s again. The demon’s eyes seem lit from some unseen source, and William can no longer fathom looking anywhere else. “Your constituents are not here right now.”

William’s vision goes blurry then, only soft, ruby red in focus as through it holds its own stardust, and while he’s aware he must be drawing breath into his lungs somehow, he cannot for all his intellect determine how he is managing even such simple motor function. 

Dantalion leans closer, his palm still a warm pressure on William’s cheek, then William’s eyes flutter shut and the only red he sees is in his mind’s eye as, finally, lips touch his. 

For all his poetic musings about the earth coming to a halt… he had never imagined it could instead move in double-time, triple-time, spin so very fast that gravity itself loses its grip and William can only float, unanchored, weightless. Free. And yet, if he did not know how very impossible an idea it was, he would be certain it were so. 

William has not cried since the day of his parents funeral, small and weak and trembling in Kevin’s embrace. So why, as he falls farther and more desperately into a kiss he has both wanted and feared for longer than he cares to calculate, as hands cradle his cheeks like he is some precious and fragile relic, does he feel the trembling burning approach of tears? 

If any manage to fall, William neither knows nor wants to know. When their lips have finally parted Dantalion’s fingers trail softly over his cheeks and any evidence that may have existed is stroked then kissed away. Nothing else is said, they embrace again in silence like it’s the only natural path to follow. Soon they are swaying again, curfew forgotten.  
  
The air touching William’s skin is at the edge of freezing. There will be crystals condensed on the windows of the dormitory tomorrow morning, and William will have to rush for his slippers after braving icy hardwood floors.  
  
But right here, in this moment, in Dantalion’s arms with soft, warm breaths that shouldn’t be necessary in his hair and a heartbeat that serves no logical purpose against his cheek, cold may as well be as fanciful as God and his angels.  
  
William shuts his eyes and winds his arms tighter, brings himself closer, lets himself fall into the impossible, illogical warmth.  
  
And he finds himself wishing, just for this moment, that he could believe in an earth that freezes in orbit.

/fin


End file.
